


You’re the Places that I Wanted to Go

by alullabytoleaveby



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alcoholism, Depression, Discussions of Suicide, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Post Finale, Pre-Slash, fallen!cas
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-10
Updated: 2013-06-10
Packaged: 2017-12-14 12:21:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,030
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/836807
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alullabytoleaveby/pseuds/alullabytoleaveby
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Without any idea of what else he should do, Castiel makes his way to the Winchesters. </p>
<p>That, unfortunately, turns out to be the easy part.</p>
            </blockquote>





	You’re the Places that I Wanted to Go

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks ever so much to those who encouraged me to keep at this fic. Musey, Kelsey, Bronwyn--you have my undying love and appreciation.

You’re the Places that I Wanted to Go

When he lays eyes on the “Welcome to Kansas” sign, Castiel weeps. It rained the night before, heavily, and he hadn’t been fortunate enough to catch a ride. Waterlogged and exhausted, he crosses the border on foot. He falls to his knees, his hands digging into the earth, savoring the feeling of the soil between his fingers and thanks God before feeling utterly foolish. Cas may have lost his faith in his father years ago—continues to lose it more each day with every new disaster that he comes across—but old habits are hard to break. Castiel knows that God did not bring him here, that God does not care what happens to him. He has arrived in Kansas due to his own determination and the kindness of the occasional stranger. _God_ had nothing to do with it. He gets to his feet, wipes his dirty hands on his pants, and continues walking.

Without any idea of what else he should do, Castiel is making his way to the Winchesters. He’s been hitchhiking for days, Metatron having dropped him outside Greenville, South Carolina, in the woods. Once his brothers and sisters had stopped falling from the sky, he had wiped his tears off on his trenchcoat and started to walk. He knows it is foolish and selfish, but he wants Sam and Dean. So he walks along the side of the road, picking up rides when he can and doing his best to avoid getting hit by a vehicle when he can’t, until he gets to them. His arrival in Kansas means that he doesn’t have much farther to go.

A sweet old lady named Adelaide picks him up near Beloit and spends the hour-long drive talking about gardening. Cas likes her, has learned her secret for growing the biggest roses in three counties. He has no idea when he will ever use the information, but he makes a silent vow to remember it, as repayment of her kindness. The sun is high in the sky when Cas makes his way down the road to the hidden Men of Letters bunker. But now that Cas has arrived, he no longer knows what to do. He has no idea what kind of reception he’ll get after yet another colossal mistake that has dire consequences for Heaven and Earth. But he has no place else to go.

The thought of knocking is terrifying; he’s half convinced that Sam and Dean will slam the door in his face, leaving him alone without a friend in the world. But he can’t _not_ knock. He’s travelled too far to just turn away now. Cas swallows thickly and indecision coils its way down his throat and around his heart, constricting tightly. He is paralyzed, unsure what to do, too scared of the unknown to do more than stare at the door for hours.

It’s early evening when Cas finally knocks, hesitantly. In the end, it’s not courage that brings him to finally decide to face the Winchesters again, but tiredness and hunger and thirst. Without a destination to spur on, he finds it harder, almost impossible, to ignore the fact that his body has needs, especially when relief is potentially one small flick of his wrist away. He hates the fact that he _has_ needs, that because he is now human he has attend to them regularly, instead of occasionally indulging in them. They are a small penance, he supposes, the very barest of punishments for all his crimes. Castiel owes Heaven, owes the world his suffering. The wearisome monotony of humanity is only a fraction of what he deserves.

Nothing happens immediately after Cas knocks and he begins to wonder if perhaps the Winchesters aren’t in. The thought never occurred to him before and he has no idea what to do if Dean and Sam aren’t in their new home. He could sit down on their doorstep and wait, but by the time they came back, Cas could very well be dead. If he heads in to town though, to find some sustenance and a place to stay temporarily, he runs the chance of missing when the Winchesters return. It could be days, weeks, years even, of an endless cycle of missed connections and Cas is so tired, bone tired, that just the thought of it fills him with a such sense of hopelessness that it makes him tear up. He feels a bit ridiculous when, a moment later, the door opens with a creak, its hinges rusty, old, and in need of repair. Sam is standing on the other side. 

Cas is relieved that Sam is the first Winchester he has to face. Sam is kinder, more sympathetic, and not as quick to judge Cas for his latest mistake. While he and Dean do share a profound bond, his connection to the younger brother is one forged in guilt and good intentions. Sam still looks ill, but he has a bit more color to him than the last time Castiel saw him. He hopes this means that Sam is recovering, that he  _can_  recover from his ordeal attempting to close the gates of hell. Cas certainly has no way of telling anymore. Recognition, quickly followed by relief, flickers across Sam’s face and he grins.

“Cas,” Sam breaths out with a sigh and Cas finds himself swept up into a tight hug with the younger Winchester; he halfheartedly returns it, unsure where to put his arms and certainly undeserving of the comfort. “We had no idea where you were, man. We looked around, but there wasn’t any sign of you. We were worried.” They looked for him? Surely that’s a good sign that they’re not going to toss him out on his ass. When Sam finally releases him from his hold, he ushers Cas inside and down the stairs into the main room of the bunker.

He manhandles Cas into a chair, calling out loudly for Dean as he does so. Cas allows it because he really is rather unsteady on his feet. But the relief for his weary limbs is short lived; anxiety consumes him the moment he hears Dean’s approaching footsteps.

Sam greeted Castiel with a hug; he has no idea if Dean will do the same. It’s just as likely that he’ll punch Cas in the face.

Their relationship seemed to be on the mend the last time they had spoken, but it was still strained. His latest mistake might just be the straw that breaks the camel’s back. He didn’t realize just how desperately he needed Dean’s forgiveness until he is a moment away from not receiving it.

Dean enters the room with an annoyed “Jesus, Sam, what’s on fire?” Sam doesn’t have to answer. Dean freezes when he sees Cas sitting at the table and his face twists into some cross between shock and heartbreak. Unsure of what to do and uncomfortable being on the receiving end of Dean’s horrified face, Cas heaves himself out of his chair.

Dean’s face is answer enough, he supposes. Dean is certainly not going to allow him to stay. Standing, however, was not a good idea and he sways slightly, the blood rushing from his head. Dean is at his side a moment later, his hand on Cas’ shoulder, steadying him. His face has softened now and Cas finds that Dean’s pity cuts just as deep as his anger.

“Dude, sit _down_.” He turns Cas around and starts to push him back into the chair he just vacated. Cas struggles, fighting him. He doesn’t want to sit back down, doesn’t want to stay where he’s so clearly not wanted (but he does, oh he _does_! He wants it desperately, needs it like air, because this bunker, these brothers, this _family_ is the only thing he has left). He shakes off Dean’s grip and stumbles. The sudden movement was a bad idea; blackness encroaches on his vision. Unconsciousness, Cas knows, is not far off.

“I’m sorry,” he pleads. “I know I shouldn’t be here.” He needs Dean to understand this, needs Dean to know that he understands his mistakes. But he is human now and flawed, so incredibly flawed, and he just couldn’t help himself. Dean grips his shoulders again and Cas faints to the far away sound of Dean frantically calling his name.

***

It takes a moment for his brain to start back up when he awakens. Cas relishes this moment, this emptiness, when he feels nothing and knows nothing and he can blink lazily at the wall, just existing. But the reboot only takes a minute and then it all comes rushing back. Cas squeezes his eyes shut tight, trying to return to that moment when he just _was_. But he cannot escape; he remembers everything. 

He is no longer an angel. There are no more angels. They’re all gone; they’ve all fallen. And he caused it, caused it all by choosing to trust someone that he shouldn’t have. Dean never would have made such a mistake. Dean was slow to trust, wary of anything good that happened to him, suspicious of those who wanted to befriend him. If Cas was only like Dean, not like himself, then this never would have happened.

“I want you to live this new life to the fullest,” Metatron had said. “Find a wife, make babies.” He won’t do that; he doesn’t deserve such happiness. Cas isn’t even sure that he deserves to be here, under the same roof with the only two friends he has (and even that number is doubtful). He wishes with all his might that he had listened to Naomi, listened to _Dean_. He’s fine with the universe punishing him for his sins, but did it have to bring his brothers, sisters, his friends down with him? The guilt is heavy, unrelenting and it hurts more than anything else that he’s experienced. He lets out a shuddering sigh and turns over, overwhelmed with remorse.

“Cas? You awake?” Sam’s voice drags him out of his head and for the first time, Cas acknowledges that he’s in the room he spent time recovering in the last time he was in the bunker and stomach was a step away from spilling out on the floor. He doesn’t know how he got here, but he imagines that Sam and Dean must have dragged him after he passed out. He flushes, embarrassed and feeling more than a little foolish for pushing his body to its limits and all but forcing his friends to take care of him. Sam is sitting at his bedside, a large tome in his lap and he has a wry smile on his face. He snorts a little laugh and mutters under his breath something that sounds like “of course.” Cas raises his eyebrow inquisitively, the question unspoken. Sam shakes his head.

“It’s nothing really. I’m just surprised you’re up is all. Dean’s gonna kill me. He’s been watching over you for hours. I made him go to bed a little while ago. Of _course_ , you would decide to wake up the minute he’s not here.”

“Dean was watching me sleep?” Cas is confused. Dean’s previous behavior indicated that Dean did not want Cas here. Was he just waiting for the exact moment that Cas was conscious to kick him out, make sure his message was clear, and that Cas never came back?

“Yeah, I told you. We were worried.” Cas really has no idea what that means, but he’s too tired to pull apart all the meanings buried in subtext. He was never very good at that as an angel and unsurprisingly, his newly established humanity has not shed any light on the subject.

“What are you reading?” He asks instead, changing the subject. Sam’s face flushes slightly and he hesitates to speak. But Cas waits patiently. He’s very good at that.

“We _did_ go looking for you, but we had no idea what happened up in heaven, if you were alive or dead. So, uh, we talked to some other angels in the area. See if they knew where we could find you. There are quite a few of them around here.”

“I imagine that they were not very receptive to your inquiries.”

“Yeah, something like that.” It’s not a surprise to Cas that the other angels hate him and probably want him dead. He doesn’t blame them; he agrees with them, after all.

“Anyways, we came across Eiael and while she didn’t know where you were, she helped us locate some books that we could use to help fix things.”

“Eiael?”

“Yeah. She was the first one, really, that didn’t threaten to disembowel us on sight. We are _not_ popular upstairs. Or well, uh, with the former upstairs.” Sam corrects with a wince.

“Eiael is…” Cas has not seen Eiael since the revolution. She had been with him in the beginning, but as the fighting wore on, she had broken away with a small fraction of other angels who just wanted peace in heaven. They didn’t so much as go over to Raphael’s side as they went into hiding until all the fighting was over. But the fighting hasn’t ever really stopped and that’s because of the choices Cas made.

Cas is coming to realize that he is an expert in making bad choices, even with the best of intentions.

“I think I’d like to go back to sleep.” Cas pulls the covers back up over his head and curls up in the fetal position. He hears Sam sigh, can tell that he just rolled his eyes at Cas’ behavior, but Sam doesn’t leave. Cas falls asleep quicker than he ever has before.

***

It’s Dean, with a soft knock, who wakes Cas up the next time. As Cas blinks bleary eyed to wakefulness, Dean opens the door and sticks his head in. Cas doesn’t move to greet him, instead closes his eyes again, hoping against hope to return to unconsciousness. Whatever Dean has to say to him, Cas is sure that it is not going to be pleasant. He’d like to put off the conversation as long as he can.

With a huff, Dean pads into the room and places a hand on Cas’ shoulder. Cas flinches underneath the blanket. “I know you’re awake, Cas. There’s food, if you’re hungry. You missed breakfast, but I made lunch.” Cas’ stomach growls and yes, he is hungry. He gives up the façade of sleeping and looks straight up at Dean. He gives Cas a small smile and Cas, instead of feeling comforted by the gesture, is puzzled.

When Cas doesn’t reply, Dean starts back up again. “And uh, maybe you want to shower first? And change your clothes? You can borrow some of mine until we get you your own.” They’re phrased as suggestions, but Cas knows that they’re orders and a wave of relief passes through him.

“Thank you, Dean,” Cas says as he sits up. It’s not just for the food, for the shelter. It’s for taking the choice out of Cas’ hands. Cas is grateful, so incredibly grateful, that Dean is giving him something to do, no matter how small. Anything at this point would be better than wallowing in his own misery.

“Uh, yeah, no problem.” Dean shuffles from side to side for a moment before he takes a step back. “I’ll leave you to it then. Shower’s down the hall.” And Cas is alone again.

***

Cas joins the Winchesters in the kitchen for lunch, showered, clean shaven, and dressed in jeans and well worn flannel. Dean startles slightly at the sight of him, but recovers himself with a smile. Sam’s still pouring over the book he had earlier, the one that Eiael had given him, and rolling his eyes as Dean pours him another helping of soup. “Dean, I’m  _fine_ ,” he insists. 

“You’re also a giant and need more nourishment than the rest of us normal sized people. So eat up. Have a seat, Cas.” Cas sits hesitantly at the table and Dean gets up to get him a bowl of soup. “I made chicken noodle.” Cas gives him a quick nod and digs in. He’s sure that it’s delicious—he knows factually, after all, that Dean is a good cook—but that deliciousness is tainted by the tedium of eating. They eat in silence for a little while, Sam reading, Cas and Dean avoiding making eye contact with each other, until Sam breaks the tension by pointing out something he read. Dean snaps.

“Jeez, Sam. Put the book that E-i-e-i-o gave you away, seriously.  You haven’t put it down since she handed it to you and it’s getting a bit ridiculous. Any day now, I’m expecting to find hearts and Mr. and Mrs. Sam Winchester doodles in the margins.” Sam rolls his eyes. 

“ _Eiael_ ,” he stresses her name, correcting Dean, “and I are friends. I am just trying to help, which is more than you’re doing.”

“Hey, I’m all for helping, you know that. But we need some time to recuperate. Both of us. We’re _benched_.”

“Which is why I’m doing research and letting Garth and the other hunters handle the legwork!” It quickly dissolves into sibling bickering and Cas tunes them out. He’s sure that it will end soon enough with a “Bitch”/ “Jerk” exchange and all will be right with the Winchesters once more.

It’s the sound of Sam’s cell phone ringing that brings Castiel back to the room. Sam glances at the caller ID and wastes no time answering it with a smile. “Hey, I was just going to call you after I finished with lunch.” He pauses and Cas can hear the other person respond, although he can’t make out what they’re saying. He doesn’t recognize the voice, but it sounds female. Sam pushes himself away from the table, waving off Dean’s annoyed squawks and leaves the room to have his conversation. He and Dean are left alone.

Dean puffs out a breath. “So uh, I don’t know if Sam mentioned anything about his new girlfriend Old McDonald, but um,” Cas, mercifully, cuts him off. 

“Yes, Sam mentioned you had spoken with Eiael.”

“So you know that we’re trying to fix this, right Cas?”

“Fix _what_ exactly?”

“Heaven, Cas. We’re trying to fix heaven.” Cas snorts, cynical.

“That’s what got me into trouble in the first place, Dean. It’s a lost cause. I’d advise you to give it up, but I think we both know that my judgment shouldn’t be trusted.” Dean recoils as if Cas had slapped him and Cas thinks that it’s _weird_. Why should Dean take offense to Cas’ self-deprecation? Especially when his own opinion of Cas was so low?

“Don’t you want your grace back? Don’t you want your brothers and sisters to go home? Or, I don’t know, put an angel blade through Metatron’s ugly mug?” And that really is the question, isn’t it? What _does_ Castiel want? Does it even matter? Because what is the point in wanting if you know you are never going to get it? Dean purses his lips in frustration at Cas’ silence.

“I’m telling you Cas, we can do this. We can bust heaven open again, I promise. All the angels can go home. _You_ can go home.” Dean gets up and gives Cas’ shoulder an encouraging squeeze, before gathering up all the dishes and depositing them in the sink.

The minute he is gone, the truth smacks Castiel in the face. 

“Oh,” he whispers to himself in shock. Suddenly, it all makes sense.The Winchesters want to open heaven up again. They are going to help his brothers and sisters get home. They are going to make sure that Cas has somewhere else to go. Somewhere that is specifically _not here_. The slow burn of hurt lingers for a long time in his chest until Cas can’t take it any longer. He gets up and roots around in the cabinets in the kitchen for anything alcoholic to numb the pain and help him forget.

***

Cas wakes the next morning with a pounding headache and the distinct feeling that he is going to puke at any moment. He has no idea how he got into his bed, but he supposes one of the brothers must have helped him to his room last night. He certainly didn’t get to bed by himself. He drank at least half a bottle of whiskey all on his own; it was disgusting and he hated the taste of it, but he craved the numb release it gave him. There was a time when it took an entire liquor store for him to even feel remotely inebriated. Now though, as pitifully human as he is, it doesn’t even take a bottle for him to be so completely wasted he blacks out. While the expediency was nice, the loss of his angelic tolerance was like salt in the wound—it was yet another thing that losing his grace had robbed from him.

When he felt he could finally move without vomiting, he makes his way out of his room to locate a glass of water and some painkillers, maybe even a cup of coffee if he was feeling up to it. Both the Winchesters are in the main room. Sam gives him a smile and a nod; Dean levels him with a cold stare. Well, that answers the question of how he got back to his room. 

Cas mumbles a good morning to them and shuffles towards the kitchen. He must look really miserable because Dean’s face softens and he sighs before getting up. He wraps an arm around Cas’ shoulders and rolling his eyes, mutters, “medicine cabinet’s this way.” He steers Cas towards the bathroom. Cas is too tired to protest the contact, even though he feels he should. Their relationship was never one that was particularly tactile, but it had its moments. Right now, though, with everything between them so fractured, Cas isn’t sure this closeness is entirely suitable. But Dean is warm at his side and it’s a comfort he has long denied himself. He’s only human, now, after all. So if he leans a little closer to his friend, does his best to memorize the way it feels to have an arm, _Dean’s_ arm, wrapped around him, well, no one can blame him.

Dean shifts Cas onto the toilet and opens up the medicine cabinet. He pulls out a few bottles, starts to explain to Cas the differences between them, dosages, and side effects. Cas could probably figure this all out on his own; he’s not stupid and he’s certainly not unacquainted with humanity. He’s spent millennia watching them. But Dean likes to take care of people, so Cas lets him. In the end, he downs a couple ibuprofens dry and then let’s Dean drag him back towards the kitchen and make him a cup of coffee.

The caffeine does little to help Cas’ fatigue; he longs to return to bed, but as soon as he’s finished, Dean hustles him out to the Impala to get him some supplies. The medicine kicks in on the way there and Cas feels slightly better, but the desire to curl up in a soft, warm bed and not move forever still lingers in the back of his mind, an itch he can’t scratch.

Dean takes Cas to a department store to buy him some clothes, because Cas can’t keep borrowing Dean’s; his closet is sparse enough as it is. He pushes Cas into the men’s department and tells him to look around for something he likes. But Cas can’t tell what he likes because he’s never had to think about it before. He has no preferences and the amount of choices before him are endless. Cas looks desperately at Dean, wishing the hunter would give him a direction, tell him what to buy, do  _something_  so that Cas doesn’t have to make a choice. He knows that it’s only clothing, but what if he makes the wrong choice? What if what he determines he likes is wrong and it blows up in his face like every other choice he ever made? 

He doesn’t realize he’s hyperventilating until Dean is standing in front of him, calling his name insistently. Dean reaches out to him slowly, putting his hands on Cas’ shoulders, but giving Cas plenty of time to push him away if needed. But Cas appreciates the comforting firmness of Dean’s hands, reaches up his own to grab at Dean’s wrists to keep him there. 

“Cas, you need to breathe, dude. Seriously. If you don’t calm down you’re going to pass out. Come on, just breathe. In through your nose, out through your mouth.” Dean regulates his own breath to demonstrate and that helps immensely. Although it’s shaky at first, Cas’ breathing begins to slow down and, as it does, he realizes that there are tears streaming down his face. 

“It’s okay, Cas. It’s going to be okay.” Dean keeps saying, but Castiel doesn’t understand  _how_. How is anything going to be okay ever again?

“Dean,” Cas says brokenly. “I’m sorry.” He’s not even sure what for, but he just knows that he is. He feels it so intensely that it eclipses everything else.

“It’s okay, Cas. Nothing to be sorry for. C’mon. Let’s go home.” Dean holds his hand and pulls Cas towards the door, towards the parking lot. He doesn’t let go until they have to get in the car, but once they’re settled, he reaches out his right hand for Cas to grip once again.

***

After they come home, Cas goes right back to bed. Dean, thankfully, lets him be. Cas isn’t sure how long he lies there, but he does know that it’s long enough for his stomach to start growling with neglect again. Cas sighs in annoyance; he really doesn’t want to eat, but he supposes he should. He’s tested the Winchesters’ hospitality enough; it would be unkind to make them deal with his starved corpse. So he drags himself out of bed and to the kitchen. The bunker is quiet and Cas realizes that it must be quite late. He’s not concerned though—there’ll definitely be something he can scrounge up as a meal.

The bunker is different when there’s no one stirring in it. There’s an eerie peace to it, a calm quiet. Cas is alone, but he doesn’t feel lonely. His stomach growls once more, reminding him of his mission and this time, instead of annoyed, Cas almost feels fond of his body’s way of communicating with him. 

He flicks on the light as he enters the kitchen and it buzzes softly through the air. There’s a post it on the fridge in Sam’s handwriting that says that there’s leftover lasagna in the fridge for him. Cas intends to eat it, he really does. But when he opens up the fridge, there is beer on the shelf and a surge of want spikes through him. The happy numbness of the night before swells in the forefront of his mind and it’s so much more appealing than the exhausting helpless panic that he’s been feeling since going out. So he takes a bottle; one leads to two leads to four. Four leads to finding a stashed bottle of tequila in the cabinet under the sink. After a quarter of that, Cas is giggling at the noises his stomach is making again because he never did actually eat, did he?

“And _what_ exactly is so funny?” Dean is leaning against the doorway, frowning.

“Dean!” Cas greets him enthusiastically before falling into another spell of laughter. Dean doesn’t laugh with him.

“Cas, this needs to stop.”

“I can’t,” Cas gets out between giggles, “It’s funny.”

“I’m not talking about the fact that you’re Chuckles McGee right now, Cas.”

“Oh. You mean the alcohol.”

“Yes, the alcohol!” Dean sounds so exasperated and normally Cas would feel bad, contrite. He’d want to try and make it better. But all he can think about right now is that _Dean Winchester_ is lecturing him aboutunhealthy alcohol habits and that makes him laugh again.

“Stop laughing!” Dean snaps and he stalks into the room, into Cas’ space.

“Why?” Cas asks. “What’s the point? Life’s a joke, Dean. It really is. How else can you explain that I’m _here_ and I’m _human_? It’s hilarious.”

“I don’t think it’s particularly funny.”

“Oh I know. I know, Dean. And when I think about it for too long, I don’t think it’s funny either. It’s actually really tragic. The trick is not to dwell on it.” 

“Okay Cas, c’mon, let’s get you to bed.” He reaches forward to lift Cas up out of his chair, but Cas smacks his hands away.

“No. Don’t wanna sleep." 

“Cas you’re drunk.”

“And I’m thoroughly enjoying it. Well, I was, until you came in here.” Dean rolls his eyes.

“Fine. I’ll just leave you and your tequila alone for a little while longer. Try not to pass out and choke on your own vomit.” Cas snorts.

“Oh don’t you judge me. You don’t have a leg to stand on.” Dean’s lips purse in anger, his gaze cold, but he doesn’t leave like he said he would. So Cas keeps talking. He’s been alone so long that now that he has an audience, all his thoughts come spewing out his mouth before he can really think about them. “I like it. It makes everything go away. I can see why you would find escape in a bottle.”

“You’re gonna kill yourself if you keep this up.” Dean’s expression is so openly sad that Cas blinks a few times to clear his vision and confirm that he is actually seeing what he’s seeing.

“Thought I’d do you a favor.”

“Cas,” Dean breathes out on a sigh and pinches the bridge of his nose. “Is that what you really think?” Cas shrugs, because he _does_ think that but he knows it’s not exactly the smartest thing to express. If the Winchesters were anyone _normal_ then Cas would be locked up in the loony bin without a second thought. But they’re not normal and Castiel is suddenly very thankful for their unusual upbringing.

“I need you, Cas.” It’s not the first time Dean’s said that. He doesn’t understand why Dean repeats it because it doesn’t make Cas feel any better.

“I don’t want to be needed. I’ve been needed my whole life. You need me, Sam needs me, a good portion of the host of heaven needed me at one point. You all take and take and take from me under the guise of need but I don’t have anything left to give anymore Dean.”

“Damn it, you think you’re the only one in the world who feels like that?” 

“Oh that’s right. I’m talking with Dean Winchester, king of self-sacrifice in the name of others. You set an _impossible_ standard, you know that? How is anyone else ever supposed to compare? Everyone else’s suffering is so inferior to yours.” Dean slams his hand on the table in anger, shocking both of them. And then Cas is laughing again, hollow and cracked. “I’m sorry. I forgot. No one cares that I’m broken.” Cas struggles to get up, but Dean doesn’t try to help him. He’s still standing in the kitchen when Cas staggers out of it.

***

Cas wakes up the next day in the early afternoon and he immediately wants to forget. The only problem is that someone, Dean presumably, has poured all the alcohol down the drain. The empty bottles are lined up on the counter, mocking him.  They’re a message, a sign that his behavior cannot continue. And he’s so very angry at this gesture because he’s human damn it. He can make his own choices. Dean has no right to police him like he is right now. If Cas wants to drink, then he’ll drink.

He picks up one of the bottles and hurls it at the wall with a shout. It smashes into a thousand pieces, but Cas feels no regret or desire to pick them up. Instead, he stalks out of the room incensed, throws on some clothes and shrugs on his trench coat. If Dean wants to pour the drinks down the drain then fine, he can do that. But Cas can go out and get more! He’s out the door to the bunker before he even realizes what he’s doing.

It takes him a long time to get to the store—the bunker isn’t exactly near anything—and by the time he does, he’s calmed down considerably. He knows he overreacted, that he was foolish and he flushes with shame. He stands outside the shop, staring at the doors for a long time, long enough to get a slew of looks from other passersby. Eventually with a sigh and a shake of his head, he turns back the way he came and trudges home. Halfway home, it occurs to him that he doesn’t even have any money, and he feels more useless and stupider than before.

The sun is setting when he gets back to the bunker and part of him expects the door to be locked, for the Winchesters to have taken advantage of their chance to get rid of him and make sure he stays out. But it’s open; Cas stands in the doorway, half in, half out, not really sure whether he’s ready to face Dean again. But he doesn’t have to worry about a confrontation. Dean isn’t in, as far as Cas can tell. He probably wants to avoid talking about their argument as much as Cas does. He makes his way to his room, ready to barricade the door and never come out again when he passes Sam in the library. Sam startles when he sees him, and clumsily gets out of his chair to chase after him. Cas keeps walking because he doesn’t particularly want to talk to Sam either.

“Cas!” He calls out and Cas knows that he has no chance of out running Sam, so he stops in the hallway and waits for him to catch up. “You came back.”

“Yes,” Cas confirms because he has nothing else to say.

“We were—” 

“Worried, yes, I’m sure.” Sam blinks, uneasy with Cas’ hostility. The kicked puppy look on his face makes Cas feel even worse. Sam has been nothing but kind to him; Cas has no excuse for taking his terrible mood out on him. “What did you want Sam?”

“Are you okay?” Castiel doesn’t dignify that with an answer. Sam rolls his eyes.

“So I guess that profound bond extends to being emotionally stunted.”

“What?” 

“I mean that you and Dean both react like you’re going to break out in hives if you have to deal with your emotions.”

“It’s really none of your concern, Sam.”

“Yes, it is. I’m your friend. Dean’s my brother. And I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but neither of you is particularly quiet when you’re arguing.” Cas flushes at the realization that Sam had been lying awake somewhere in the bunker last night, listening to him and Dean have it out.

“I am sorry to have disturbed you.”

“I’m not disturbed Cas, I’m concerned. And so is Dean or else he never would have gone and picked a fight with you last night." 

“Well, you will not have to be concerned soon enough, Sam. I don’t believe I will be staying here much longer.” Sam’s eyes widen and Cas uses his momentary shock as an opportunity to make his escape. He slips into the room that he’s been using and pushes the dresser in front of the door. 

***

Cas stays in his room for the next few days and he successfully manages to avoid running into anyone. On the first night, he slips out of his room and makes his way to the library, where he’s sure he can find an atlas. It’s old and most definitely out of date, but Cas takes it anyways. He carefully rips the pages from the book and painstakingly tapes them to his wall, making one giant world map.

He sits on the floor in his room and he stares at it, wondering where he should go. He’s been all over the world, but he’s never taken the time to wonder where he’d like to go if he didn’t have heaven to go back to. Every time he looks at the United States, his eyes zoom in on Lebanon, Kansas. He’s actively looking elsewhere now, at Asia, at Europe, at Africa, at Australia, and South America. He needs to get far away so he’s not tempted to come back; make a clean break. He has no idea how he’s going to get there without an identity or a cent to his name, but he’ll figure out something, he’s sure of it. He’s resourceful, always has been. So the question really is: where should he go?

It’s been days and he’s no closer to deciding.

He goes to get food in the middle of the night, as is routine for him. Sam’s been leaving him leftovers, writing him small notes that he tapes to the fridge. Cas is surprised that Dean’s still making enough food to feed three.

The bunker no longer feels like it did the other night. It’s cold and unwelcoming and lonesome. Cas knows that it can’t go back to the way it was before though; nothing ever does. The kitchen is not empty when Cas gets there. In fact, the light is on, the coffee machine is brewing a pot, and there is a blonde woman sitting at the table, reading. Her hair is up in a messy bun and she has a pair of thick black glasses perched on her nose. She looks up when she hears Cas in the doorway and she smirks at him.

“Castiel, come in, sit. I’ve been waiting for you.” He enters the room slowly, unsure if he should. He doesn’t know who the woman is, but the only way she could have gotten into the bunker is if Sam or Dean let her in. She watches him, her blue-eyed stare unwavering as he moves towards the table. As he gets closer, he gets a glimpse of what she’s reading; it’s in Enochian. He startles with realization. 

“Eiael.”

“Got it in one.” She takes a long sip of her coffee. “Sam tells me you’re being stupid.” Castiel blinks, unsure of how to respond. 

“Okay, well he said you and his brother were being stupid. But I figure stupid is just kinda how Dean rolls, so it’s not that much of a change for him. You, on the other hand, are anything but stupid.” 

“That…is debatable.” She rolls her eyes.

“Oh shut up. No one likes whiny men.” Castiel looks down at the ground, chastised. Eiael whistles low. “Sam wasn’t exaggerating then. Come on, sit, tell me all about your problems.” Cas does as he’s told. 

“Sam asked you talk to me?” Eiael shrugs.

“You’re not the first angel he’s asked me to check in on. Although he usually asks me to talk them because they’re having problems adjusting to human life, not because they’re arguing with their boyfriends.”

“Dean and I are not—”

“Save it, Cas. It’s not that important. The only reason the two of you _aren’t_ is because you both have your heads up your asses. That’s not why I’m here to talk to you.”

“Dean does not—”

“Uh uh, no. I don’t want to hear it,” Eiael cuts him off again. “I am not getting involved. Sam told me that you’re thinking of leaving. So, are you?” Cas nods.

“I think it’s…best if I put some distance between Dean and myself. Things are not good between us.” Eiael leans forward and scrutinizes his face. She’s searching for something. He’s not sure what is, but she must find it because she sighs and slumps back into her chair.

“So you’re just going to go somewhere else, you’re not…” She trails off, but it doesn’t take a genius to figure out what she was thinking.

“No, I do not think that I will kill myself.”

“You don’t think?” Cas shrugs.

“I can’t predict the future. And if you asked me if I’ve ever wanted to, well, the answer would be yes.”

“But right now?”

“I have no desire to end my life at this current moment.”

“I’m glad. We’ve um,” she stumbles over her words, but Cas waits patiently. “Sam didn’t think that’s what you were talking about, but you wouldn’t…you wouldn’t be the first.” 

“Who?” Eiael hesitates, weighs the pros and cons of telling him.

“Muriel,” she finally admits. “Noaphiel, Dameal. A few others. It hasn’t been easy for us, Castiel.”

“No, not for any of us.” Eiael drinks some coffee and clears her throat.

“Okay then. So have you given any thought as to where you want to go?”

“You’re not going to talk me out of it?”

“Nope,” Eiael admits. “I was never going to.” 

“But Sam—”

“Just wanted you to know that there’s a network of us out there, some support. You don’t have to do this by yourself, brother. So, where are you going to go?”

“I…I don’t know. I’ve been looking at maps, but the world is so…”

“Big?” she offers with a smile and Cas gives a low chuckle.

“And different. I’m not sure what I’m looking for.”

“Well, when you figure it out, let me know. I can try to help.” Eiael smiles brightly at him and they sit at the table in comfortable silence. Eventually, Cas gets up to get something to eat. Eiael returns to her book.

“Thank you,” Cas breaks the quiet between them once he’s finished eating. “For coming here. I’m surprised you were willing to talk to me at all. We did not part on the best of terms.” Eiael reaches out, grabs his hand and squeezes.

“Oh Castiel. Haven’t you learned anything from your friends? We’re family.”

***

Eiael finishes her cup of coffee and then heads off to bed. If she slips into Sam’s room instead of one of the many guest rooms the bunker has, well, Castiel isn’t going to say anything about it. He’s glad, he supposes. Sam and Eiael both deserve some happiness. 

Cas goes back to his room not long after. He stares at the map he’s constructed on his wall and lets his gaze linger on Lebanon, Kansas. When Eiael had asked him where he wanted to go, he lied. He knew exactly where he wanted to be, he just didn’t think he could have it.

But why can’t he? 

When he thinks about his now very mortal life, he can’t imagine not being at Dean’s side.  Things between them are strained, certainly, but he has never once asked Castiel to leave, never once told him to get out. He does his best to help Cas, to care about him, to be a good friend.

It is Castiel who jumps to conclusions, who runs away, who keeps leaving without even writing a note, who keeps waiting for the other shoe to drop and for his world to come crashing down around him again. But if Eiael is to be believed, that isn’t going to happen.

Cas wants to stay, wants it more than anything. He reaches out to the map, brushes his fingers across Lebanon. A moment later, he knows just what he needs to do.

*** 

Castiel cooks breakfast. When Dean emerges from his room, the smell of bacon beckoning him forth, it is clear from his shocked, surprised face that he is not expecting Cas to be the one cooking.

“Good morning, Dean,” Cas greets him and turns back to the pancakes he’s making. Dean continues to stare at him, dumbstruck. His hair is still mussed from sleep, he’s still wearing his pajamas, and his robe is falling down one arm. Castiel feels a surge of affection within him at the sight. He hasn’t seen Dean in days because of their fight and he’s missed him.

“Cas?”

“Yes?” 

“Is there a reason you’re making breakfast?”

“There is.” Castiel doesn’t elaborate and Dean huffs in irritation. 

“You gonna let me in on the secret anytime soon?”

“In time. You’ll have to excuse me, Dean. Believe it or not, I don’t cook very often and it requires most of my concentration.” Dean laughs at this.

“Let me help,” he offers, sliding in right next to Cas and already reaching for the spatula to flip the pancakes over. There is an ease between them that Castiel has not felt for such a long time and he relaxes into it with a smile. A million more mornings like this stretch out before him and the thought of it is enough to make him giddy. 

They get everything on the table and then sit down to eat. Cas waits for Dean to have the first bite, to groan around it, before he tucks in himself. Dean never takes his eyes off Cas as they eat; he clearly wants answers, but he’s waiting for Cas to bring it up. Cas waits until they’re about halfway through the meal before he decides to put Dean out of his misery.

“I’m sorry, Dean,” he says and Dean tenses up immediately.

“For what?”

“For our argument. I was drunk and I know that’s not an excuse, but I didn’t mean what I said. It was…unfair and unkind of me.”

“Um. Apology accepted?” Dean’s clearly not sure what to make of Cas’ sudden contrition. “And for what it’s worth, I’m sorry too.”

Dean digs back into his pancakes, slightly embarrassed, his face flushed.

“So uh, Sam mentioned that you were thinking of moving on.” Cas rolls his eyes.

“Sam talks too much.” Dean gives him a perplexed look. “Eiael was here earlier. Sam asked her to talk to me.”

“I, um, didn’t know that she stopped by.”

“That’s probably because she doesn’t like you,” Cas states unapologetically and Dean laughs.

“Yeah, I picked up on that. So you figure out what you’re gonna do? Where you’re gonna go?”

“Yes, actually. I have.” Dean tenses, like he’s waiting for terrible news and Cas hopes that his words will be a balm, that they will ease away the stiffness in his posture. “I’d like to stay here. If you’ll have me.” The tension does not bleed out of Dean at the announcement and Cas wonders if he made a mistake after all. But Dean doesn’t look angry, doesn’t look like he’s going to toss Cas out with just the clothes on his back. He looks thoughtful, like he’s mulling over Cas’ words in his head another time to make sure he heard correctly.

“Look Cas, I don’t want you to think that I don’t want you here. Because I do. Of course you can stay here. I want you to stay here. But I need you to stop disappearing on me. I’m not saying that you can’t make your own choices or go out on your own or that you even need my permission, but I just…I need you to keep me in the loop.

“Because worrying about you this past year? It drove me fucking nuts. I can’t keep wondering about what you’re doing or where you are or if you’re safe or if you’re finally sticking around for good this time. Hell, I went out to look for you the other day when you left, because I wasn’t sure if you were going to come back. So if you’re going to stay, you have to _stay_. Do you get what I’m saying?”

“I do.” He does. He really really does. “And I’m going to stay. I _want_ to stay. Here. With _you_.” Dean flushes slightly, bites his lip briefly, then clears his throat.

“Yeah, I, uh, I want that too.” Cas grins, stupidly wide and Dean mirrors him. When Sam and Eiael join them sometime later, they’re still smiling.

**Author's Note:**

> This fic started as a 2600 word feels induced word vomit after watching the season 8 finale and that I posted to tumblr. But it wouldn't leave my head, so I reworked it and added to it to the point where it grew to almost three times that size. Needless to say, this version is much better.


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